The Cereal in the Killer
by Kaila.Nicole
Summary: When the body of a banker is found in the freezer at a local organic supermarket, the only clue to solving his murder lies in his face- literally. With Booth following Bones due to her ties with the supermarket, how will she ever solve the case? B&B.
1. The Uh Oh Face

**AN: Although I convinced myself I should take a break from writing fanfictions during school, I just couldn't resist this idea, and immediately began making my index cards for the storyline. **

**As always, I sincerely hope you guys enjoy! **

"Thank you, Booth."

"Mmhmm." Booth responded as he let the glass-paneled door fall shut behind them. A young agent and a store clerk led the partners to the back of the store, into the bowels of the supermarket, and towards the freezer. With the heavy metal door swung wide open, Brennan and Booth inhaled the scent of mildew, ice, and dead body. "Whew. He reeks. What happened this time, Bones?" He watched as his partner climbed into the meat freezer and examined the remains.

"Male, late forties to early sixties." She leaned over the body, taking in the massive lacerations on his frontal lobe. "It appears he was bludgeoned to death by something, due to the gapes in his cranium and face."

"Ouch. By what?"

"I don't know, Booth, that's why I said something," She stood up, examining the interior of the freezer, before stepping back out, "There are unidentifiable specimens lodged into the lesions and what's left of his nasal passage. I'll give those to Hodgins; see if he can figure out what they are." Booth shrilly whistled to the newbies.

"All right, kids, let's wrap it up and send it to the Lab." As the officers and agents skittered around, collecting samples and covering the body, Booth put a hand to his stomach. "Let's go get something to eat, Bones. I'm starving."

"There are plenty of healthy choices here. You know, you really should think about lessening the quantity of processed foods you consume."

"We just found a dead guy in the freezer."

"I'm not suggesting you eat him, Booth." He sighed.

"Yeah, I got that. But still… why would I trust a place that has bodies stored in the back?"

"Funeral homes have bodies stored in the back. And there was only one body here." He sighed again, headed towards the main section of the store.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"So you'll eat here?" Booth turned, looking back towards his partner, because he could have sworn he'd heard what sounded like… joy in her voice. As usual, though, her face was stoic.

"No."

"They have an excellent selection of garden vegetables, though. I believe the owner grows them on the roof. I buy nearly all of my groceries here."

"That's because you're rolling in dough," He quipped, paused, and then spun on his heel to face her, "Wait, you shop here?"

"Yes. That's what I said."

"Bones, what if somebody dumped the body here because they know you shop here?"

"Stop jumping to conclusions, Booth," She snapped off her gloves in frustration, "That's completely irrational and you have no evidence."

"You have no evidence against it." He took a step closer, his face inches from hers, and to his disappointment, she simply turned around and started walking back towards the truck. This time, though, when he held the door open for her, he received nothing but silence.

\/

Cam's eyes were locked onto the body in utter confusion as Booth came bounding up the platform's steps.

"Where's Bones?"

"In her office," Cam replied, the dazed expression still clouding her face. There was a significant pause, where Booth glanced up from the body, to Cam, and then back to the body.

"Uh-oh."

"What?" She glanced up, finally, to her friend, "What happened?"

"You have that face."

"What face?"

"The this-makes-no-sense face."

"Well, that's because-"

"I analyzed the bits that were lodged into his face," Hodgins declared, typing away on the computer before a chart of ingredients appeared before the team, "They were composed of frosted oats and marbits, commonly known as marshmallow bits."

"He was murdered by cereal?"

"Magically delicious cereal."

**AN: I know that this chapter wasn't that exciting, but it gets better, trust me. Booth appears a little OOC at first, but I don't believe he's that way through the rest. **

**You know the drill. **


	2. Awareness

He was aware of nearly everything around him. The clock ticking to his right, the bobble-head staring frozenly back at him, even the occasional rookie agent glancing into his office, then thinking against going in, to which he extremely enjoyed having that kind of power. What he was not aware of, though, was a fuming Temperance Brennan heading up the elevator, arms swinging with adrenaline. He was aware of her, though, once she barged into his office the morning after they'd found the body.

"Heya, Bones!" He greeted, then, upon seeing her face, instantly regretted ever saying a single word.

"You put watchdogs on me?"

"Watchdogs?" He watched her flop into the seat in front of him, something Bones hardly ever did: flop.

"I've been watching cable television recently."

"Well, then I feel a congratulations is in order." He turned his attention from her back to the file beneath his anxious fingers. His fingers, which he realized appeared to be typing across a keyboard whenever he became nervous.

"How many times have I told you that I don't need protection?"

"Two hundred and seventy-three times." He grinned as she narrowed her eyes.

"Is this another one of your jokes or have you really counted? Because I'd like to see where you're getting this information, if you've kept some kind of record…."

"Calm down. I know you've told me many times."

"Then why do you insist upon treating me like a toddler?"

"I do not treat you like a toddler. If I treated you like a toddler, I wouldn't let you go _anywhere_ alone, would I?" Knowing that further arguing was just going to push her buttons and cause her to go irately catatonic, he tried a simple apology.

"Accepted. Now, are you going to call the agents off?"

"No."

"Why not?!"

"The murder might be tied to you. The owner of the store might be another obsessive fan that knew you would be the only one investigating this man's death. The possibilities are endless."

"All of your 'possibilities' are not credible, Booth." He almost grinned at her use of quotation marks around the word.

"Bones, I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but until we rule out this being connected to you, I'm having them keep tabs on you. That way you're safe and I don't have to find a new partner." She gaped at him, outraged, and then clamped her mouth shut like he knew she would. Her arms crossed defensively as she rose from the chair.

"You are being an over reactive, selfish alpha-male. Until you stop doing so, please don't contact me." The frustration nipped at his mind, egging him on until his emotions got the best of him, and he vented out by rising from his own seat.

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to come crawling back, Bones. The 'watchdogs' are following you whether you like it or not!" As he predicted, her eyes widened, but her mouth stayed in a thin line, almost translucent against the rest of her features. He closed his eyes, instantly regretting his words again, and all he was aware of was the resonating sound of his office door slamming. "Damn it."

\/

"His name was _what_?"

"I'm serious. Stop laughing, Booth."

"Sorry, Angela. But… wow."

"Elmer Fud?"

"Statistically, the name Elmer dropped significantly in the 1940's because his obsession with hunting local wildlife was frowned upon by society."

"Wow."

"…I don't know what that means."

"You know, Bones, like Elmer Fudd, the famous cartoon rabbit hunter. The one who was always after Bugs Bunny. _Looney Tunes_?" With a shake of her head, the rest of the squints shrugged and continued.

"According to this, he's a licensed banker at Federal Bank down on Pine Street. He's also an avid hunter, from the looks of these newspaper articles about local deer and turkey hunting."

"A hunter? Oh, this just keeps getting better and better."

"Let's see…" Angela quickly scanned the information that was flying across the screen, "He lived alone. There's an article here about a car crash…."

"All right, Bones, let's go," Booth called, placing his hand on her the small of her back and leading her out of the room, "We've got places to go, people to see."

\/

"Never heard of him. Sorry." Vinn Wilson, a young and attractive twenty-nine year-old claimed after being flashed a photograph of Fud. "But isn't that the guy who used to hunt rabbits on cartoon shows?" Booth sent his partner an 'I told you so' look before continuing with his investigation. Brennan, in return, resisted rolling her eyes and wandered down throughout the store to check out the cereal aisle.

"You don't happen to sell a type of cereal that contains marshmallows, do you?"

"Like… _Lucky Charms_ type stuff. You got any of that?"

"Definitely not. We don't sell any of that processed shit here, if you'll excuse my French."

"No part of that sentence was French."

"It's a common phrase, Bones." She shrugged and continued down the aisle. Vinn fiddled with the cash register as Booth continued on with his questions.

"So you don't think he was a customer?"

"No. Most of my customers are regular, like Dr. Brennan over there," Vinn smiled softly towards her retreating figure. Booth cleared his throat. "But no, I don't think so."

"Yeah, I'd say an avid hunter wouldn't purchase anything around here," The agent muttered and glanced up in alarm when Vinn practically exploded.

"A hunter? No way I'd let him into my store. Especially those trashy ones that just hang the innocent deer's head on a plaque. If he found his way into my store, I'm glad he was killed." Then, realizing his mistake, Vinn quickly backtracked, "But I didn't kill him, obviously, because I don't even know the guy."

"Right. Anybody here use the Federal Bank on Pine?"

"What? No, I don't believe so. Well…" Booth peeked over his notepad, eyeing the young man with interest, "I think that Geremy's mom uses that bank. I've heard her coming in and complaining about the service there."

"And Geremy would be…?"

"Oh, he's the teenage boy in the back. A real sweet kid. He's a little mentally challenged, though, so it might be tough asking him questions and getting decent answers." Booth quickly thanked Vinn and then headed down the aisle to grab his partner. "Now, Bones, the next person we're going to talk to is a little… slow. Be nice and don't start throwing out insults."

"I don't insult people, Booth."

"Right, of course you don't."

\/

After finishing what Booth couldn't truly consider an interview- more like watching a kid play with Matchbox cards on a cement floor and sing show tunes until all he'd gotten out of the kid was that his mom "definitely went to that place with the shiny floors and money"- he headed back to the Jeffersonian to drop Bones off.

"So what did you and Vinn talk about?"

"Why?"

"Well, the look on your face seemed that you were perturbed. I would like to know what he said to you." Booth clearly remembered what Vinn had said and he clearly remembered that he hadn't looked perpetuated or whatever college-level vocabulary she'd just used on him.

"He freaked out when I mentioned Fud hunted."

"Well, that seems reasonable. Many organic farmers are severely against killing animals."

"Yeah, but I was just surprised," At his partner's obvious interest as to why he was, Booth grinned and continued on, "Most people freak out about the stock-broker part."

**AN: It seems like there's quite a lot of dialogue, but that's usually the best thing about Bones. I don't own anything that was mentioned. And, as you can tell, I put a little spot in for Mr. Nigel-Murray, because he's my favorite junior-squint. **

**Fisher is just too pessimistic for my tastes, and that's saying something, because my brain usually works towards pessimist rather than optimist. Haha. **

**Arastoo seems like a copy off of that guy from **_**House, M.D.**_**, you know, the one who killed himself… last season… I believe. Clark is my second-favorite, but I felt that Nigel-Murray was the best for this story, because it's a so humorous. **

**And now I'm rambling. Wait! One last point: I love that Booth and Brennan can be at each others' necks one minute, then he can put his hand on her back and everything is peachy keen. **

**You know the drill!**


	3. Grated Objects

"We may be able to determine where he was murdered." Booth looked up from his cell phone screen- he had intended to text Brennan and see if they could meet for lunch at the Diner, but he deemed case news a bit more important than lunch. But only slightly.

"How?" Hodgins quickly brought up a diagram on the computer screen.

"The cereal embedded into Fud's face is a generic brand, pertaining to a single grocery store that just happens to be down the street from the crime scene," His eyes flashed over to Cam's, who held in a breath, "And if British boy and me can do an experiment, I may be able to tell you exactly how he died."

"Why don't you guys ever just let the coroner handle the cause of death?"

"Cutting up dead bodies isn't as much fun as what I'm proposing." To this, Mr. Nigel-Murray nodded excitedly, but kept his lips sealed for Cam's sake.

"Fine, fine. Run and get the things you need. I'll be…" Cam paused, glancing around to see if there was truly anything for her to do, "Eating lunch with my sister, I suppose." She made her way down the platform and out of the Lab, calling out to Hodgins for a report on his experiment, before disappearing through the double doors.

Booth, however, stayed in his fixed position, watching the squints hustle around the platform, all the while debating on whether or not to hit send.

\/

"All right," Hodgins breathed out, content with the contents in front of him, "Considering that whatever shoved those cereal pieces into his face was a grated material, I have assembled together a number of items that could be the murder weapon or at least give us cause of death." Mr. Nigel-Murray peeked up from behind the counter, holding an iron metal water grate in one hand and a titanium cheese grater in the other.

"Do you really believe the murderer had immediate access to a cheese grater?" Hodgins simply grinned and snatched the items up, aligning them on the table with the others.

"Dude. Who cares? The goal is to figure out whatever smashed into his face and if this was cause of death."

"And we're going to prove this how…?" Hodgins's grin grew wider as he withdrew several honeydew melons.

"With roughly the same size and shape of a human head, we can use these to experiment on. Afterwards, Angela will produce us a 3-D rendering of the attack." Mr. Nigel-Murray simply continued to nod, quite speechless from the prospect of actually experimenting with an assortment of grated-objects. "Ready?"

"Oh? Oh, yes. Definitely. Did you know that-" Before the young squint could continue, he found himself drenched in honeydew guts, with Hodgins standing with the cheese grater mid-swing in front of him. Instead of worrying about his clothing, the squint grinned in response. "My turn!"

\/

"Hey, Bones!" Booth passed Hodgins and Mr. Nigel-Murray, eyeing their fruit-covered clothing, before barging into Brennan's office.

"Yes?" She called from her desk, took one look at the person in the doorway, and turned back to her computer. "What do you want, Booth?"

"Angela's almost finished with the recreation of the attack."

"Thank you." He watched her as she continued to type.

"That means we should probably head over to Angela's office."

"_You_ can go to her office now. I will join you all in a few minutes." He let out a breath and decided to go against her wishes, instead choosing to lean against her doorway and stare at the side of her head. After a few moments, he noticed her eyes dart over to his form, but her neck never moving. Another glance. Her fingers flew faster across the keyboard. Another glance. "Okay, Booth, what are you still doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"Why? I just told you-"

"I heard you, Bones, but that doesn't mean I'm going to _listen_ to you."

"That doesn't make any sense. If you heard me, that obviously means-"

"It's a figure of speech," He moved closer and leaned in to quickly hit Control and S, saving her word document, then slapped her computer screen down, "Now can we go?" _If looks could kill_, he chuckled as he faced down Bones's attempt at a death glare. All it did was make her face scrunch up, which he admitted was pretty adorable, even if Bones claimed she never did 'adorable.'

"Fine."

"Good." She rose and he rose and together, they made their way just down the hall, where the other squints were already collected around Angela's computer. "See, you made us late." Brennan continued her glare, but gave up, realizing that Booth was just smiling right back at her.

"So what do you have for us, Ange?"

"This." The artist pointed to the large screen which began playing a reenactment, showing a grated-object smashing into Fud's pixilated face repeatedly, little sugary treats crushing and breaking inside of his nasal passages.

"The cereal killed him?"

"It appears so," Angela moved forward, slowing down the rendering to point out where the cereal entered Fud's nostrils, "As you can see, they broke apart due to the crushing, and when he tried to breathe in, he choked on the dust, and well… you know the rest."

"Do we have a murder weapon?" In response, Hodgins shook his head.

"We tested several items- and I mean several- but we just couldn't match it to anything that would be accessible in the middle of a parking lot or at the back of a store."

"A cheese grater?" Angela sarcastically questioned and to this, Mr. Nigel-Murray smiled.

"That was the most exciting trial." The squints and the federal agent rolled ideas around in their minds, calculating location and easily accessible objects.

"Grocery carts!" Booth exclaimed and the team turned in surprise at the exclamation.

"Well, that would certainly explain the grated texture of the weapon."

"And since the cereal was purchased at a supermarket, they would have plenty of carts, unlike a small chain like the organic market." Brennan finished examining the rendering and addressed her squad.

"All we have to do now is swab the grocery carts at the supermarket for blood and skin fragments." To this, her partner chuckled and as the team filed out to the Lab, Brennan wished to know the reason for his laughter.

"It shouldn't be that hard to find skin and bones on a grocery cart, Bones."

"Why? And we're not looking for bones, Booth."

"Yeah, I know, but considering the mayhem that comes along with Black Friday shopping…." At her pointed blank stare, he sighed, "Crazy soccer moms and 'Tickle Me Elmo's'?"

"What does murder have to do with Sesame Street characters?"

"You know what, I'll give you two points for at least knowing what Sesame Street is, but really, Bones, you need to get out more." Brennan grinned, restraining herself from rolling her eyes, and walked out with her partner to join her team.

\/

Outside, the world was bright and cheerful, a small pigeon pecking its way across the windowsill with small, round splotches of emerald green feathers decorating its back, which were brought out by the sunshine high in the eastern sky.

Inside, Special Agent Seeley Booth sat facing a large, burly man at a dark cherry wood desk. Wood paneling lined the walls, reminding him of his childhood home's 1970's basement paneling. To the right, the window shone. To the left, the looming filing cabinets rose up as if coming out of a stoic, plain grave. He didn't think he'd ever been in such a depressing room in his whole entire life.

"What can I do for you, Agent Booth?" The agent dragged his eyes away from the bright world outside.

"I'm here to inquire about your employee, Mr. Fud."

"Yes, yes. A great man, Elmer, but a very lonely man at the same time. No doubt you've heard about that terrible car accident?"

"Car accident?"

"Oh, never mind. Just bringing up the past. Now what is it that you want to know?" George Pavinich looked away from the window, too, as Booth had done. "I've got a meeting in a few minutes, so if we could just hurry this up." Any highly-trained public official knows that when a person pertaining to an investigation wants to quicken the interview, a red flag should go off. Booth's own red flag was high and waving.

"Did Mr. Fud have any enemies that you know about?" Mr. Pavinich seemed alarmed, surprised even, that this was the first question Booth would ask.

"Enemies? For God's sake, he was a stock-broker."

"My point exactly," Booth smirked, "Enemies?" Mr. Pavinich squirmed in his wide leather chair.

"Elmer was a good broker, but sure, the occasional customer was unhappy when their stocks dropped and would blame him, but it's not like _we_ control the Dow. Things happen, Agent Booth."

"That they do, sir. Did any of these customers act upon their threats?"

"Not that I know of. If one of his customers did murder Elmer, though, I believe it would be that crazy bird lady with the mental son." Booth's eyebrows shot up and he permanently rested his gaze upon the older man in front of him.

"Crazy bird lady?"

"Gene Fitchkins. Every time she isn't up here cursing Elmer for stealing her money, she's down feeding birds at the park with her son. She works up at the hospital as an RN, but she's old, so they don't work her much, and she came here to see if we could help her get some extra cash. Didn't know a god-damned thing about the stock market, that woman," Mr. Pavinich gripped the pen in his hand tighter, his gray face tinted red in the cheeks and forehead, "Her son's mentally handicapped. He works down at one of those health food stores downtown."

"What happened with Gene?"

"The Dow plummets and she goes senile on Elmer, telling him that he's stealing her money and she's going to make him pay."

"Did she do anything?"

"Besides coming around here every damn day to file a complaint?" Mr. Pavinich cleared his throat, although the angered and disgusted look stayed upon his face, "No. She didn't do anything."

"And Elmer, did he...?"

"Agent Booth, I run a serious business here. If Elmer, a licensed banker, were sneaking money out of an account, we would know. We run checks on all of our employee's bank accounts, just to make sure they haven't mysteriously 'come into some money,' if you know what I mean." Outside the window, the sky began to take on a hazy, gray tone similar to that of Mr. Pavinich's wrinkly hands and his filing cabinets.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Pavinich."

\/

"Any news?" Brennan loomed near Hodgins, who was busy testing the last of the samples off of the carts.

"Didn't you just ask me that five seconds ago? And aren't you being a little vexatious?"

"I doubt that I asked you that same question five seconds ago and yes, perhaps," He invited her to explain, "Booth's been getting on my nerves with this whole thing about the murder being at one of the store's I frequent, so I'm trying to get it wrapped up as soon as possible."

"Then you will love this," Hodgins stated, bringing out a sample that was stained a blue color, "The coloring indicates that blood matching our victim's was covering the bars of the grocery cart." Hodgins and Brennan filed down the rows of buggies that lined the outside of the Lab. "Cart number 113." Before the two scientists sat the standard-issue metal-barred buggy, and as if Mother Nature sensed the lack of ominous mood, a strike of lightning cracked overhead and a deep rumble of thunder sounded far off in the distance. "I swabbed this one for fingerprints and fluids. Came up with a number of hits and ran them through the mass spec. Guess what popped up?"

"What?" Hodgins grinned, resembling a kid in candy store.

"No fingerprints, but a common organic insecticide- mostly used on green, leafy vegetables- was found in high doses on the handlebars of the cart," Although the situation didn't call for a crack of thunder, Mother Nature supplied one yet again before Hodgins continued, "Wilson orders that same insecticide to treat the plants for various insects on his roof." Another lightning strike lit up the darkened mid-afternoon sky.


	4. Leather Handbags

**AN: Although I haven't been receiving many reviews for this, which, I'll admit, is a tad disheartening, I will continue to update, considering I have already typed out an outline for each chapter and I can't handle the thought of leaving Booth and Brennan alone. :)**

**I also apologize for the late update, which might occur a few more times, considering I'm up to my eyeballs in ACT preps and college pamphlets. **

**Enjoy!**

"Going somewhere?" Booth called out to Wilson, who ducked out of his car and cried out in pain as his forehead smacked against the door.

"Huh? No, no where."

"So there's another reason why you've got a couple suitcases packed up into your backseat?" Finding his pathetic lie foiled, Wilson rubbed a sweaty palm over his temple.

"Okay, fine. I'm going to Miami to visit my mother." Booth grinned, denying himself the pleasure of rubbing his hands together in an iniquitous manner, because he knew he was the center, backing his opponent into the corner until he eventually cracked.

"And there's no other reason for you to be, you know, leaving the state, there, Vinn?" On this note, Brennan leaned over, whispering into her partner's ear.

"Are you suggesting that this man is jumping out on us?"

"It's skipping out, Bones, and yes," He eyed the five-o'clock shadow littering Wilson's face and the wrinkled 100% recycled T-shirt, "I am suggesting that."

"Listen, I promise that I had nothing to do with what happened to that guy."

"Oh, that's great. I'll definitely take your word on that and be leaving now." After a moment of silence, Brennan shifted her stance impatiently.

"Sir, we have reason to believe that whoever killed Mr. Fud had a specific type of insecticide on themselves."

"So?"

"The same insecticide is used for the plants on your roof," Booth interrupted Brennan- a brief flicker of annoyance coating her face before she narrowed her eyes at the store owner. "Now, if there's anything you need to tell us, Vinn, it better be now before I take you downtown for attempting to outrun the police."

"All right, fine. I do know him. I took out a loan with Fud for the store, but I only dealt with him a few times. The rest, I talked to Pavinich."

"Anything he did that rubbed you the wrong way?"

"Well, like I said, I only talked to him a few times and then suddenly, he's ignoring my phone calls and I'm waiting on a confirmation from him so I can go ahead and bring in the inspectors. Sure, I was ticked off, but wouldn't you be?"

"Did you murder Mr. Fud, Vinn?" Brennan asked in a soft voice. Wilson's shoulders slumped even farther.

"No, Dr. Brennan. I didn't kill him. I didn't like him, but I wouldn't have committed murder just because of having to wait an extra week or two to open up my store." With that, Booth and Brennan returned to the S.U.V. and watched as Wilson reversed and then drove away, chugging down the street in his hybrid vehicle.

"What does your gut say?" Brennan turned to her trusted companion as an amused expression crossed over his features.

"You're trusting _my gut_? I thought you said that there isn't any way on earth that my gut could detect whether a person is telling the truth or not?"

"Of course I don't believe in your 'gut' or 'soul' or whatever else you feel the need to personify, but I find it comfortable if I know what you're thinking, Booth."

"I'm still not sure. The evidence points directly to him, but I still think we need to talk to the mother." Brennan nodded, accepting his judgment as he headed off in the opposite direction of Wilson's car. "Thanks." Booth spoke up after a solid minute of quiet.

"For what?"

"For taking an interest in what I thought."

"We're partners, Booth. I want to at least acknowledge the information you obtained from the interrogation."

"A simple you're welcome would have sufficed, but I'll take anything you throw at me, Bones." They shared a simple grin and continued on their way back to the Jeffersonian.

\/

Dr. Brennan had an ability to adapt to any environment she was thrust into, whether it be a suspect's home, the Sahara desert, or a grotesque crime scene. However, as she sat at a local coffee shop- her fingertips rattling against the cup, her foot bouncing up and down- she realized that she had no idea what to expect out of Ms. Fitchkins. This was one of her first interrogations without Booth and one of the only public ones she'd ever tried. Downing another sip, her eyes flickered to the door, where a middle-aged woman was entering and scanning the coffee-goers.

"Gene Fitchkins?" The woman caught Brennan's own gaze and a nervous grin appeared across her face.

"I'm assuming that you are Temperance Brennan?" The anthropologist nodded and watched as Gene took the seat across from her. She set her purse in her lap, her fingers kneading the knit fabric. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Brennan sipped her coffee another time, preparing herself mentally for the questions Booth had drilled into her before she left the Jeffersonian, "As you know, I have several questions to ask you about the murder of Elmer Fud."

"The day it happened, Geremy called me from the store in hysterics, claiming that there was a monster in the freezer," Gene spoke smoothly, even as her fingers crushed the leather handbag.

"A monster? Was Geremy afraid of Mr. Fud?" To this, Gene shook her head.

"I don't believe so. Geremy never met Elmer, except for a few times when I went to visit his office. Once he saw Elmer's body, though, he… he just lost it. I couldn't be there because of my work, but I finally calmed him down over the phone." After a moment, Gene cleared her throat, "You want to know about Geremy?"

"No, actually," Gene widened her eyes at Brennan's blunt response, but did not have a chance to ponder on it due to the doctor continuing, "I want to know where you were on the night before the body was found."

"Me? Why? Am I a suspect?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded; ignoring the look of shock that coated Gene's wrinkled face, continued, "We have evidence that may link you to the murder."

"That's absurd! Why would I harm Elmer?!"

"According to Mr. Pavinich, you made several threats against Mr. Fud during the time he was alive. Obviously, you can see why the F.B.I. is inquiring about your whereabouts." Gene blew out an exasperated breath, her fingernails now carving small semi-circles into her purse.

"Sure I was pissed off at him; I have good reason to be. He stole money from me! But I would never seriously murder the bastard."

"Why not? You exhibit powerful emotions against him." The agitated woman shook her head furiously back and forth, placing her fists on top of the table.

"Dr. Brennan, there is no way I would have killed that man. I fantasized about going over to his enormous mansion and burning it down with him inside it- several times, in fact- but I would never do so, just to end up in jail. Who would watch out for Geremy then?" She inhaled, trying to calm herself down, "The only way we survive is on welfare. Without it and my crappy job, we would be out on the streets. I desperately needed that money, but Elmer practically threw it away, claiming that he knew the stock market like the back of his hand."

"Did your son know about any of this?"

"No. I don't tell him anything that he doesn't need to worry about. When he knows we're tight on money, he won't beg for the usual toys and trinkets," Empathy burned brightly in Brennan's eyes as she faced the woman who was moving farther and farther down the suspect list as she spoke, "The doctors told me the risks about having a child at my age, but I wanted a child so badly, I didn't care about the challenges we would face. He's a good boy, Dr. Brennan. I will never do anything to compromise his life."

"I'm sorry, but you still haven't stated your whereab-"

"I picked up a late shift from one of my co-workers, stayed at the hospital from five to four in the morning."

"Thank you, Ms. Fitchkins, for your time." As she rose to leave, Gene released her handbag and swiftly exited the coffee shop, leaving Brennan to review the conversation she'd just had and to swallow the thick layer of emotion that had collected in her heart and throat. After a few moments, she stood and pushed open the door into the blinding sunlight, leaving her half-empty cup of coffee sitting on the barren tabletop.

\/

"Did she have an alibi?"

"She was working the entire night. There isn't any way she could have killed him."

"Damn it. Anything else?"

"Yeah. I know I never make guesses, but I believe I just found out who murdered Elmer."

"Who?"

**AN: My money is on Lady Gaga. How about you? If there are any mistakes, I apologize, because I typed this in a hurry. **

**Oh, **_**and**_**: review, por favor! **


	5. Empty Box

**AN: Thank you for the lovely reviews I received on the latest chapter. If I could send each of you a free hug from Booth, I would, but sadly, I must use the money to go to college. Haha. **

**Enjoy!**

Climbing onto the roof of Vinn's store, Brennan and Booth were pegged in the face by the sudden rain that had erupted from the overcast sky mere minutes before. The shrubbery and gardens upon the roof shook and shivered from the pounding raindrops, as did the young teenage boy, crouched in a corner of the roof, his gloved hands covering a fresh pile of dirt.

"Geremy Fitchkins?" Booth called out to him over the oncoming storm.

"Vinn said to keep this dry. I'm keeping it dry," Geremy responded, his small voice barely detectable.

"Geremy, do you know what happened to Mr. Fud?"

"He was a bad man." The pair shuffled closer and Brennan tugged on Booth's jacket sleeve, pointing to the gloves Geremy wore.

"If I give those to Hodgins, he could prove they were the same exact gloves used at the crime scene." Booth restrained himself from scolding her about how to talk in front of a suspect and merely nodded. He kneeled down to Geremy's level and the boy finally looked him in the eye.

"He did terrible things to my mom. He stole our money. Why should he get all of our money and not us?"

"Did he tell you he took the money that night, Geremy?"

"No. But I knew he was lying. Cause he's a liar. Liar, liar, but no pants on fire." He fiddled with the gloves, plucking them off slowly and dumping them onto the ground. "I know I shouldn't have done what I did but he wouldn't stop lying. If God says don't lie, then you don't lie, right?"

"Right," Booth sighed and placed a hand around Geremy's arm, hauling him up to stand, "What exactly happened that night?" The boy began sobbing and biting his lip until blood started to trickle down, mixing with the falling rain.

"He came up to me in the parking lot. I was heading back home and he started touching me and grabbing me, kept screaming that he didn't do anything wrong," His face twisted in pain and his sobs grew louder, "But he was a liar! Fud has always been lying to my mom and I didn't want to see her cry anymore. My mom is a good person and he was just lying and lying and he wouldn't stop!" Brennan moved forward, placing a comforting hand on Geremy's shoulder. "He told me the president was making him do it, that he couldn't stop the bank from taking the money, but I knew he was just making up excuses."

"What happened after that?"

"He wouldn't stop putting his hands on my cart, so I ran him over with it and kept pushing him and pushing him and he wouldn't stop lying! No matter how hard I hit him, he just wouldn't stop, so I picked up the cart and threw it on top of him. After that, he stopped moving, so I pulled him into the cart and took him to the store. I figured that I could keep him in the freezer until I found somewhere to put the bastard and then Vinn found him on accident. He just… he just wouldn't stop lying! And no one makes my mom cry. She's tough. But that man… he made her cry."

"Well, you know what happens now, right?" Geremy nodded solemnly as the rain poured down around them.

"Yeah. I killed him. He deserved it, but I killed him." As Booth headed back towards the staircase to arrest the boy, Brennan leaned down to place the gloves in an evidence bag. What caught her eye, though, were a few small flowers peaking out of the drenched soil Geremy had been trying to keep dry when they had first arrived. With her free hand, she grabbed an empty box from the side and covered the flowers to keep them safe.

\/

After a steaming cup of coffee, Brennan made her way to Angela's office to bid farewell to her friend before leaving for the night.

"Ange?" Brennan knocked against the doorway. On the computer screen was a newspaper article dated a few months before Fud's death. "What's this?"

"This is from the Washington Times," Angela spoke up, "It's about a fatal car accident involving Fud's wife and two sons." She turned towards Brennan, a sad smile on her face. "Bren, the money that Fud came into was from his family's life insurance."

"What was he going to do with it?"

"According to his secretary, he planned to give it to charity. Maybe he didn't have anything left to live for, but there was no reason for his death. Elmer Fud was an innocent man."

**AN: Short, yes, but the next chapter promises B&B, so stay tuned. **


	6. French Fry

**AN: Last chapter full of B&B. What more could you want?**

"Thank you, Booth."

"Mmhmm," The federal agent responded with ease as he passed the ketchup over the table. Not too surprising was the fact that the two were seated at their usual spot at their usual place: the Royal Diner. Although frantic glances were shared, they said nothing more and allowed the cacophonous sounds of the local diner to fill in the silence. After a few minutes, though, it became too much.

"You really think I'm an over-reactive alpha male?"

"Huh?"

"Earlier this week, when I had 'watchdogs' trailing you, you called me an over-reactive alpha male."

"Oh. Right."

"So…?"

"Yes."

"Exactly what are you agreeing to, Bones?"

"Yes, I do believe you publicly assert yourself to such a stereotype," She munched on a fry as he stared blankly at her, waiting for her to continue on one of her rants, "Your normal stance is hands at hips, but your legs are not bent and you are not leaning to either side, as if you are some type of… superhero. You also place your hand on my lower back as if you are escorting me places. You precisely control conversations when interrogating a witness and you give no self-disclosure." She eyed the look on his face curiously. "You want me to stop?"

"Yeah, I think I got the message."

"It's not meant to be an insult, Booth. In many ancient societies, the alpha male was always considered the leader of the pack, just as they are today. In fact, nearly every society has been like that, besides the Amazonian tribes from long ago." Booth squirmed in his seat, leaning forward towards his partner.

"So do I really do all of that stuff?"

"Certainly. Do you want more examples? I could make you a list, if you wish, Booth." Her grin caught him off guard and he found himself chuckling just watching her smile, although he wasn't sure why.

"You're quite a jokester, there, Bones."

"As I told you, I'm becoming quite amusing."

"But seriously… do you?"

"Think that you're a typical 'man'?" He said nothing but she took his silence as a confirmation. "Booth, I have come to accept that you are overly protective of me and I admit that it is… nice having someone wanting to know how you are and keeping you safe," Just as Booth was about to leap for joy, she rambled on, "Although I don't see why, considering I am perfectly able to take care of myself." _Figures_, he admitted to himself, but his heart couldn't be shot down by one of her self-protection arguments.

"Okay, okay. I hear you loud and clear."

"Which means you'll stop pestering me and hovering over me every time a situation becomes dangerous?"

"What? No way, Bones," Her eyes widened comically at his blunt response, "And I don't hover, thank you very much."

"Then will you at least let me drive?"

"No."

"A gun, then?"

"Why are you so persistent on the gun topic? The answer is no to both," He paused for a moment to chug down some of his vanilla milkshake and to mull over what she had been badgering him about, "And why would you think that a gun measures less to driving a car?"

"Statistically, more people perish in car accidents than by bullets, Booth."

"Bones, let it go." She growled under her breath and slumped back into her seat as her partner continued chuckling at her disposition. While he was grabbing his wallet to pay for the meal, however, she flicked a fry in his direction, hitting him right between the eyes. "You never give up, do you?"

"Not a chance."

**AN: I was debating on whether or not they should have conversed about the case, but I thought that the flirting was going too well. Ha, ha. Thank you for reading! **


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